


Side of a Janus Coin

by donteatmyfingerprints



Series: Multiple Line Syntax [4]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Light Angst, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donteatmyfingerprints/pseuds/donteatmyfingerprints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 4x11.</p><p>Shaw finds herself looking around for a particular tall brunette a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Side of a Janus Coin

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I'm going to be posting various scenarios and depictions of what could have happened in the aftermath of 4x11. All the works that are going to be in this series are not at all related to one another.
> 
> (Also, I swear quite a bit in this one)

It’s not like Shaw expected Root to be the first one there when she regained consciousness, but she supposed it was something she’d kind of envisioned, maybe overbearingly worried, fussing about her wounds. Instead it was good old Harold, and while Shaw was grateful to see a familiar face, she admits she did look over his shoulder searching for long wavy brown hair.

 

Her Team had made a makeshift bed in the inner part of the underground subway instead of a hospital or her own place, it made more sense to be able to take multiple shifts to watch her.

 

She’s ordered bed rest for two whole weeks, and John and Harold are her only visitors. And Bear, of course. Showering in the old toilet in the subway is a little bit of a hassle, but she manages anyway. Harold gets her new toothbrushes and towels and she takes what she can get. Her injuries heal fast, and she thinks she’ll be fit enough for action soon.

 

Shaw finds herself looking around for a particular tall brunette a lot. She resists asking because if she’s honest, she’s still really embarrassed with her dramatic exit the last time they saw her. But patience has never really been one of her strengths, and after the third day, she lowers her pride, grits her teeth, and asks John.

 

“She was just here. She just left.” He gives her a strangely heavy look, one she doesn’t understand. 

 

And every time after that, whether Shaw asks John or Harold, they say the same thing. _She was just here, you just missed her, she’d just left._ If she’s slightly put out, she ignores it, telling herself that Root’s probably got something important to do. Something The Machine needs her to do. They might have rescued Shaw but they haven’t yet defeated Samaritan.

 

And soon she’s up and about, doing light exercises to stretch her muscles, and not being stuck to a bed all day makes her much happier. She’s feeling pretty good, considering the past few months.

 

She’s in the main lobby (she doesn’t know what else to call that spot where they usually gather and discuss plans) playing with Bear the first time she sees Root after her capture. Root pauses in the middle of walking down the entrance stairs, and their gazes lock.

 

It’s the first time Shaw’s seen her in months, and perhaps she can admit that there is a smile threatening to break through. Yes, yes, the smile almost bursts from her chest; the world can laugh at her sappiness now.

 

She definitely _doesn’t_ expect Root to blink at her blankly and then continue like nothing happened at all, marching straight to Harold at the desk.

 

Root launches into business straightaway, telling Harold about a method of coding a virus that she thinks might help them start getting ideas on how to get Samaritan offline. They speak in computer jargon for a while, too quickly for Shaw to understand.

 

Then Root says she’s going to get more information on this, somewhere in the financial district, so she turns to leave. She doesn’t look at Shaw at all when she goes.

 

If Shaw was honest, that stung. Quite a bit. When she finally stops just standing there vacantly like a frozen statue and looks back at Harold questioningly, he is staring a little too intently at his computer screen. She frowns, but something lodges in the back of her throat, and she finds herself unable to voice her confusion.

 

It takes her only one more week to be fit enough for missions again, but Harold and John insist she should wait to recover fully first. She rolls her eyes and grumble, but let’s them have their way.

 

She sees Root only once more during that week, and Root doesn’t pay her much mind again. She’d only come to grab some guns, Root tells John, and even jokes a little with him. But she gives Shaw a wide berth. It’s starting to bother Shaw, and she refuses to admit why.

 

It doesn’t take Shaw much to persuade Harold and John to let her take on her first number, and when she comes back to their cave after the mission, Root is pacing nervously and chewing on her nails. Her hair is messy and she looks a little distraught.

 

She stops pacing when she sees Shaw, and Shaw thinks she sees relief dance across her features. It’s gone as quickly as it came, and then it’s replaced by anger, her mouth opening slightly, and Shaw thinks that Root’s _finally_ going to say something to her. But then Root tightens her lips into a thin line, closes her expression and stalks furiously away.

 

Bewilderment is a little _light_ compared to what Shaw’s feeling. She doesn’t know what to do with the emotion and she doesn’t like how the whole thing kind of _hurts_ so she gets angry too. She plays Root’s little game. She ignores Root as much as Root ignores her. 

 

The boys politely side-sweep their tension, and tries their best to pretend they don’t notice.

 

Shaw goes back to saving numbers, and if she’s much grumpier lately, John doesn’t comment. He lets her take her fury out on the bad guys, but his meaningful looks are getting a little harder to ignore as the days pass.

 

Maybe it’s because she’s not completely healed up, so Shaw’s a little slower than before and on her fourth mission, she gets a little nick on her side from a dagger she wasn’t expecting. It’s nothing serious, so she rolls her eyes when John fusses about her. He tells her to go sit down while he goes and looks for some disinfectant. Shaw grumbles but sits obediently inside the first car of the train inside the subway.

 

She hears rapid clicking of heels, and looks up. Root bursts into view, breathing heavily, looking winded. Her eyes are panicked for a moment, and then runs over Shaw, assessing for injuries. She seems to get the information she wanted, her expression flickering from anger to worry to a heavy _Shaw has no fucking idea what_. She looks like she’s about to say something again, like every other time she’s seen Shaw lately, and then she just storms off. Again.

 

Shaw frowns. She wants to get angry, but instead, she just feels a little deflated, air leaving her lungs in a sigh. Outside she hears Root raise her voice at John, but she can’t make out the words. When John finds Shaw after, he gives her a forced smile, and says nothing.

 

Shaw’s on the phone with Lionel one day, because his kid was going through a teenager phase, and was wondering if She knew how to handle it. Shaw thinks that it is absurd to think she would know the solution to this. He says she’s a woman and women know these things, even if they are ex-assassins. She laughs tells him to buy his son a new video game console. Or some porn.

 

When she hangs up, she catches Root staring at her from across the lobby, an unreadable expression on her face. Shaw blinks and Root’s already looking somewhere else determinedly, and Shaw doesn’t know if it was just her imagination. She’s confused, angry, and hurt, and she _doesn’t_ _understand_ , so she grabs her coat. She ignores the eyes boring into her back as she leaves.

 

On a day that Root isn’t around, they receive two numbers. It’s rare, but not entirely ridiculous, so Shaw suggests they split up to handle it- John can take one, and she’ll take the other. John and Harold exchange looks.

 

“Um, maybe we should just go together,” John says uncertainly, and Shaw frowns.

 

“You’ll probably be quicker if both of you are working together, and get to the next one in time, Ms. Shaw,” Harold says reasonably, but Shaw knows they’re just being overly protective after her close brush with death.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, reaching forward and swiping one of the numbers on a slip of paper from Harold’s hand, “we’ll be fine.” The coddling thing was really getting old. They reluctantly go along with her plan.

 

It’s a fun number, easy but not boring. She reports back to them over the open communications line when she’s finished the job, and then decides it’s kind of early and she doesn’t want to go back yet. The silly boys won’t let her out again, so she grabs the chances she can. She goes to the nearest bar and gets herself nice and tipsy. Then she remembers she needs to refill ammo, so she takes a slow walk in the night breeze back to the subway. She takes the time to breathe, feeling lighter outside than trapped underground with the bizarre tension. It helps to sober her up.

 

Shaw knows it’s really late so she doesn’t expect anyone to be in the subway. But the main lobby’s light is on, and Root is sitting at the computer table, restlessly tapping her fingers on the table, and jiggling her leg. When she sees Shaw she jumps up, and glares.

 

“Where’ve the hell have you been?” Root snaps. Her eyes are bloodshot and a little terrifying. Shaw is a bit taken aback by the emotion swirling in her eyes, and with alcohol is still fuzzy in her system, she doesn’t react immediately.

 

“Where is your phone?” At Root’s question, Shaw fumbles around in her coat and pulls out her phone. It was flat.

 

“What is the point of having a fucking phone if you don’t fucking look at it?” Root goes on, almost yelling now. She takes in the hazy look in Shaw’s eyes, and her reddened face, and it occurs to Shaw that Root has realized her inebriated state.

 

“You were out _drinking_? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting-” Root takes a quivering breath, clenching her jaw. Shaw silently dares her to go on. But Root looks away and exhales loudly through her nose, and runs a shaking hand through her hair. And Shaw knows the next part already, has become familiar with Root’s avoidance of her and the heavy feeling in her stomach every time it happens. She doesn’t even flinch when Root makes her exit.

 

In the morning Shaw realizes she didn’t snap or fight back, and she blames the alcohol for dulling her reaction. She ignores the hollow feeling in her bones that feel an awful lot like shame.

 

They go back to ignoring each other. Days turn into weeks, and ignoring Root becomes a little easier. She even manages to ignore the twinge in her chest whenever they awkwardly end up alone together before Root makes a lame excuse and a quick escape. She doesn’t know when they’ve gotten so awkward around each other. The team manages to work around it, finds a rhythm and step that makes their situation more bearable for everyone involved. Root and her are rarely alone together.

 

But once in a while, unfortunately, to both their reluctance, they do end up in the same mission. And maybe Root has, for some reason, changed in the months that Shaw wasn’t around to see it. Maybe she’s misreading every single signal that Root gives her. Maybe she shouldn’t have kissed Root, maybe she was the one that made things weird. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t care.

 

What she _does_ know, is that if she sees a bullet flying toward Root, her first instinct is still to shove Root aside. She’s a soldier. It doesn’t mean anything.

 

But Root’s face is horror and alarm and fear when Shaw falls onto Root by way of inertia. She hears Root yelp her name. Her hands are pushing at Shaw, pushing her up, trying to see where Shaw had been hit. But bullets are flying and Shaw drags the distracted Root to cover. She slams Root onto the wall, pining her with her torso and left arm, and peers out to shoot. She hears a thud and a groan. Root struggles against her hold, and she lets go when they’re in the clear.

 

“We need to move,” Shaw pants, from the effort of holding Root down and the numbness in her left arm. She touches her right hand to her left upper arm, and looks down at the blood on her fingers. She looks up to see Root staring at the wound with wide frightened eyes, and watches her lips part. Shaw is sick of it. Sick of all the things they don’t talk about. Sick of this thing she’s forced to dance around. She’s a hammer and she likes things up-front, blunt and to the fucking point. She hates this shit.

 

So she pushes Root away from her (it takes some effort, Root is uncooperative), and storms off to the car, clutching her bleeding arm. Root doesn’t always get to be the one storming off. Root follows her quietly, and the whole way back to the subway she says nothing.

 

Shaw had planned to go to the medical kit and just sort it out herself, and is surprised and annoyed that Root beats her to it. Root drags her to little bed in the lobby, and forces her to sit. Root sits on her left and pushes off Shaw’s jacket. Shaw’s running on anger though, and her frustration threaten to spill over, so she shoves Root’s hands away roughly.

 

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Shaw growls, and removes her jacket and tosses it on the floor with more force than necessary. She grabs the medical kit and methodologically removes the bullet, wincing as she does so. Root watches with an indecipherable expression, remaining still. When that’s done, Shaw moves to grab disinfectant and bandages. Root fumbles with shaking hands to try and help her, and she swats them away irritably.

 

Root watches her finish up in silence, her stare intent. Shaw doesn’t look up at all. It’s a bit challenging to do this with one hand, but she slaps away Root’s hands when they interfere. When she cannot pretend to be checking and double-checking that the bandages are secure anymore, she looks ahead, determinedly not looking at Root beside her.

 

“You’re late.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re late. It’s way past the time that you’re supposed to get up and run off like you’ve something more important to do,” Shaw doesn’t mean to sound so bitter, but it comes out that way anyway. The sentence hangs between them for a long time. Shaw is sick of it all.

 

Well, if Root won’t leave the only time that Shaw fucking wants her to, then _she_ will. She moves to get up, and suddenly Root grabs her arm.

 

“I-”

 

“You what?” Shaw snaps, finally losing her cool, whipping around to face Root. She doesn’t even care that Root looks so miserable and lost right now, she doesn’t fucking care. Because she was miserable and lost for months and Root should suffer a bit of that too. Her glare doesn’t falter, not even when Root swallows. Root looks down then, at the wound on her left arm, the same arm that Root’s fingers are curled around.

 

“Please stop doing that,” the way Root’s voice comes out, pained and begging, does nothing to dampen Shaw’s anger. If anything, she’s even madder. She makes an irate noise and tries to get up again, and Root’s grip on her tightens.

 

“Sameen-”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Shaw snaps again, and Root flinches a little, and looks away, inhaling shakily. Shaw shakes her hand off successfully this time, but doesn’t move from her position. Root takes a few breaths, but she finds herself unable to stop her tears. She wipes them off angrily, pushing herself off the bed and heads straight to the toilet. Shaw sits there fuming for a while, and she nearly jumps and whips out her gun at a sudden voice.

 

“Maybe its time you and Ms. Groves sat down to talk.”

 

“Finch?” She asks uncertainly, wondering how long he had been there. She squints into the dark, vaguely making out his silhouette in an armchair in the corner. He gets up and slowly limps over, pausing at the computer desk. He slides his fingers lightly over the tabletop for several moments.

 

“When we presumed you dead,” he pauses, looking directly at her, “Ms. Groves took it upon herself in the hardest possible way.” When Shaw doesn’t respond, he goes on.

 

“At first she held onto hope that you were alive, a captive to use against us. Her hope made her blind to everything else, and her only goal was to get you back. She was ruthless for… a long time. And when all evidence started to point to the contrary… She sat where you are sitting right now, and cried for two days, refusing to move, eat or sleep.” Shaw looks away, angry at a million things she cannot put voice to.

 

“When we finally managed to locate you, Ms. Groves tore through the entire base mercilessly, and almost cost Mr. Reese’s life in her recklessness. Of course, Mr. Reese and I do not hold it against her, but perhaps Ms. Shaw, you must consider that she finds it a little hard to forgive herself.” Shaw clenches her fists, an ache in her chest she doesn’t understand.

 

“She never left your side when you were unconscious, Ms. Shaw. And she came in to check on you every day even after you woke up. Try and understand, Ms. Shaw, that _Root_ is simply not feeling her best.”

 

It doesn’t escape her notice that Harold only uses Root’s self appointed name when he’s absolutely serious. Shaw doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to hear any of it. She’s not equipped to handle any of it. The more Harold tells her these things, the angrier she gets. Angry and frustrated and she wants to punch the hell out of something. She wants to watch something bleed. She’s so angry she’s almost shaking, and she feels that it’s too private a thing for Harold to witness.

 

She grabs her jacket off the floor, and pointedly goes to her makeshift ward in the back room. She sleeps there now, even though she’s healed, because she’s still supposed to be a wanted target. She fully intends to slam the door in Harold’s face if he dares follow her.

 

When she gets there however, Root is standing there with both hands planted on the bed, staring hard at the white sheets.

 

“Get out,” Shaw grounds out, her chest heaving from the restraint she’s exercising on her own anger. Root looks up finally, and their gazes simply hold. Root looks a little unbalanced, a glint of madness in her eyes that makes Shaw even angrier. Anger was easier than guilt, than not knowing what to do, than helplessness.

  
Shaw doesn’t know who breaks their stalemate first, or if they both lose their own sanities at the same time. There is a pained exhale from Root as she lunges forward, hands reaching out, and Shaw thinks she might have tried to punch Root maybe, because she’s not sure how she had moved closer as well- and suddenly Root was on her, tongue in her mouth, a hand in her hair and the other around her waist, crushing them together. Shaw drops her jacket onto the floor.

 

Someone is groaning through hard kisses, and Shaw feels Root slam them both against the door behind her, the impact making her grip Root’s hips harder. The hand on Shaw’s waist moves to lock the door in a quick movement and returns to her body, slipping straight under her top and clawing hot skin.

 

They both inhale sharply at that first touch and Root resumes her attack with a renewed ferocity, raw and livid. Root’s height makes it very easy for Shaw to lose track of her thoughts, around and above her, Root’s hair surrounding their faces, filling Shaw’s lungs with Root’s undeniable scent. Shaw cannot remember feeling so strong a desire for anyone, and her own hands dip into the back of Root’s pants, gripping flesh and grinding Root harder against her.

 

Root’s hand on the back of Shaw’s neck tightens, her nails scraping hard, and her mouth bites more than it kisses. It’s not until Root’s fingers are running through her hair that Shaw realizes her hair isn’t tied up anymore. Someone moans. They push and grind and slam against one another haphazardly, urgent and unforgiving.

 

And somewhere along the way, Shaw realizes that Root’s shaking is not lust, that she can taste salt at the corners of Root’s mouth. She forces herself to loosen her grip on Root, forces herself to slow down their hurried motions. Root makes a loud aggravated grunt in disapproval, and tries to work Shaw up again, pulling her up and then slamming her forcefully back onto the door. Root continues digging her nails into Shaw, scratching at her, and presses her mouth harder, forcing a deeper kiss. But Shaw doesn’t like this desperation. It’s not what she wants from Root, curling off her like heavy smoke from a cigarette.

 

Root sobs into their bruising kiss, a sound that Shaw finds she hates.

 

Shaw forces herself to slow, pressing a palm on Root’s sternum, applying the slightest amount of pressure. Under her hand, she hears the pounding that is Root’s heart, and feels the heaving and rattling of her chest. It takes some effort, but eventually Root slows her movements as well, her fingers loosening their pressure, her body sagging against Shaw. Her hands slip from Shaw’s neck to rest against the door. Their mouths stop moving, but hang open, pressed up against each other, and slowly Root trails her face away, letting her forehead fall onto the door behind Shaw with a soft knock. Her heavy trembling breaths are loud beside Shaw’s ear.

 

“Look at me,” Shaw says finally in the silence that followed. She can feel Root clench her jaw tightly, but Root doesn’t move.

 

“Look at me,” She insists, soft but firm. She turns her head slightly to Root, encouraging her. Root feels warm and steady under her palm. Finally Root lifts her head from the door, and looks down at her, and doesn’t pull away.

 

“You’re okay,” She states simply- then realizes she doesn’t know what to say after that. She’s not really an expert in these things. There is another long silence that follows, before Root seems to shrink and crumble, the stress of the last few months catching up to her all at once. Root’s hand is a tight fist against the door.

 

“I thought you were _dead_ ,” Root confesses in a pained rasp, and Shaw hears her voice go hoarse with tears welling up. Root tries to blink them back, but one rolls down anyway. She keeps her palm steady on Root’s sternum, grounds her in the moment.

 

“I didn’t know how to look at you again, and not think about that. I didn’t know how to- how to look at you, and not want to break some bones. I’ve never had someone that I- I was _scared_. I didn’t know how to, how to-” Root stops rambling, and collects herself.

 

“Please stop doing that. I _can’t_ lose you again, I can’t,” Root loses her courage then, her gaze wavers, and her throat refuses to work. She can’t find the right words. The raw emotion rolling off Root in waves leave Shaw aching, and even makes her feel a little wretched.

 

Slowly, with Root watching her every move, she leans upward. She feels Root’s breath hitch against her palm, and hears her soft inhale as she presses her lips softly against hers. She kisses Root as gently as she can, trying to show her what she cannot say with words. She tastes Root’s tears, accepts them without question.

 

“I thought I’d be the one to pretend nothing happened,” She says, raising one brow. This earns her a weak chuckle from Root, but it is enough. Shaw’s hands are still on Root’s hips, and she absent-mindedly watches her own thumbs brushing the smooth skin above Root’s pants. It’s not until she looks up that she realizes that Root’s eyes have closed, and she looks soft and calm. Shaw feels a fierce and sincere desire to protect this always.

 

“Fine,” Shaw says, with an exaggerated eye roll, “I’ll let you ignore me for a little while longer, but if it gets ridiculous I’m going to shoot you. It’s getting really old.” Shaw moves to turn around, to open the door. She figures she’ll give Root some space. A hand on her makes her stop, and she looks at Root questioningly.

 

Root fidgets a bit before looking down and asks in a small voice, like a child asking for candy, “I’m really tired. Can I sleep here?” It would have been kind of funny, Shaw thinks, if Root didn’t look so pathetic.

 

“Duh, of course. I’ll take the one outside.” She moves to go again, and once more Root kind of stops her, albeit hesitantly. She shifts her weight from one leg to the other, and scratches her elbow self-consciously, and Shaw rolls her eyes.

 

She pushes Root aside none too gently and moves to the side of the bed expectantly. Root determinedly looks at the ground, refusing to meet her eyes, but Shaw thinks she can see a tinge of pink in Root’s cheeks. She finds it kind of endearing, but she’ll never tell Root that. Root gets into the bed, curling up under the covers, facing Shaw, but closes her eyes.

 

“Wait till I fall asleep?” She asks almost shyly, and Shaw can tell she’s very embarrassed at having to ask for this. She can’t help the smirk that forms, but Root is shutting her eyes very resolutely and doesn’t see it. Root shifts a little further in, flipping to face the other way and Shaw sits on the bed beside her, but they don’t touch. As Root’s breathing evens out beside her, Shaw hesitantly reaches over to run her fingertips down Root’s arm.

 

She fully expected the slight tensing at the contact, but feels Root slowly relax as she dances her fingers from her shoulder to her wrist and back up again comfortingly. Her mother used to do this to help lull Shaw to bed.

 

Shaw takes the time to marvel at the softness of Root’s skin, or how little goosebumps form. She runs her hand over Root’s back as well, like her mom used to. She’s so engrossed while appreciating the warm below her fingertips that it takes her a while to notice Root isn’t relaxing anymore.

 

She seems more tense than when she first hopped into bed. Her breathing is a little shallow. Shaw frowns, but her hands move without conscious thought, and when she lightly grazes the exposed back of Root’s neck she hears a small squeak, and warm flesh twitches.

 

“What’s wrong?” Shaw asks bluntly.

 

“Nothing,” Root utters breathily, “Nothing at all.” The pillow muffles her voice, but Shaw finds it oddly strained.

 

“What? You don’t like it? It’s supposed to be nice,” Shaw almost snaps, suddenly feeling self conscious and defensive. She’s annoyed at herself and Root both. This is why she doesn’t try to be nice and comforting or whatever the hell that is. It’s just not something she’s good at.

 

“I like it,” Root says, turning around to face her, looking up. Shaw looks away and frowns harder.

 

“No, it’s stupid.” Shaw decides that this whole putting Root to bed thing is even stupider, so she shifts awkwardly, wanting to leave, but then Root is leaning up on one elbow and hovering next to Shaw’s face. Shaw can only pretend to ignore her for so long before she sighs exasperatedly and looks to Root. She was not quite expecting what she saw.

 

Root’s eyes were dark but iridescent, and her breathing thin and airy. Root’s chest rolls when she breathes, and Shaw has _definitely_ noticed. Root doesn’t look so tired anymore.

 

“Sameen,” Root says pointedly, her cheeks furiously red, “I. Like. It.”

 

Shaw’s throat goes a little dry. _Oh_. Root licks her lips, and Shaw’s eyes drop to watch the motion. _Root is tired. Root needs to rest. Root is not thinking straight._ Shaw chants it in her head like a mantra.

 

“I should go,” Shaw splutters, ultimately finding her voice.

 

“Yes, you should,” Root agrees distractedly, staring at Shaw’s lips too. But neither of them moves, and Root’s eyes grow even stormier, and Shaw wonders what exactly she’s picturing. Anticipation simmers in the air between them.

 

Root bites her lip, and Shaw feels a bolt of lust cut through her gut. It’s only when she hears Root’s small intake of breath that Shaw realizes that she’s leaned forward to take that bitten lip into her mouth instead.

 

Shaw takes her time to savour it, running her tongue over Root’s bottom lip, lightly nibbling. It’s soft and plump, and deliciously swollen. Root doesn’t budge, although her breathing turns more scarce as Shaw suckles.

 

“You’re tired,” Shaw manages to say, her breath warm on Root’s face.

 

“Exhausted,” Root affirms, half lidded eyes out of focus. Her mind clouds with sensation, and she cannot think with the amount of effort taken to hold herself tightly in restraint.

 

“I’m not thinking straight,” Shaw mumbles.

 

“I’d be offended if you were,” Root breathes out, their lips brushing together with every word that they curl around.

 

“You’re not thinking straight.”

 

“ _God_ , _no_ ,” Root whimpers, her eyes sliding close, and that is enough for Shaw succumb, pressing fully onto Root, one hand coming up to cup the back of Root’s head.

 

It breaks their careful balance, and suddenly hands delve into hair and there are too many clothes between them. Shaw moves, and Root slides under to make space for her. When their bodies align and Shaw presses down, Root nearly jumps with the burn of their heat. Shaw’s hands run maddeningly over Root, but the fabric of her shirt is in the way, and Root feels a desperate urge to feel Shaw’s hands on her skin. Shaw grinds down, a leg coming in between both of Root’s. Her gut constricts with expectancy, and her head falls backward, a moan pulled from her lips. Shaw automatically moves to her neck, runs tongue and teeth up to her ear.

 

Root drags her nails down Shaw’s back, pulling her firmer downward, and Shaw’s answering groan right in her ear, gravely _wanting_ , makes Root tremble. Desire is all Root can focus on, a throbbing ache that craves relief.

 

“Am I crushing you?” Shaw pants, and Root genuinely thinks she shouldn’t be allowed to exhale directly into her ear this way. She can hear every nuance of want and restraint in Shaw’s voice, and _oh_ how she wants to it all to _break apart_.

 

“Yes. Crush me _more_ ,” Root whispers like a prayer, reverent, sliding her palms under Shaw’s shirt. The muscles beneath her palms tense and ripple as she trails over them. Shaw’s skin is unbearably hot, searing right through her open palms.

 

“Maybe we shouldn’t-”

 

“No more talking,” Root growls, pushing Shaw’s shirt up and off, and then attacks her lips with fervour. They dislodge again to remove more clothes, shirts and bras tossed onto the ground carelessly. And when a palm closes hot on Shaw’s breast, tightening marginally, Shaw presses her thigh onto Root’s center. Root arches, throbbing from the intimacy of it, even with the fabric between them.

 

There is a new urgency that sears inside Root, completely different from the broken desperation that had her pushing Shaw against the door earlier. This one is blistering and demanding and torrid, and Root thinks she might combust into flames if Shaw denies her now.

 

Fingers fumble at the button of her pants, and Root reaches down to help, her own shaky digits not proving very helpful. She lets out a frustrated noise, but they manage between heavy breaths to remove the offending piece of clothing, dragging down her underwear along with it.

 

Shaw stops for a moment to gaze down at her, and Root feels oddly vulnerable, bare under the scrutiny. But there is a fire that lights up in Shaw’s eyes, and Root barely has time to blush before Shaw’s mouth lowers and closes around a nipple. Root jerks, hips bucking, but Shaw’s hips are purposefully lifted away and Root mews in frustration. She reaches for Shaw’s own jeans, tearing for the button and Shaw kicks to help get them off. Shoes follow, hitting the ground loudly.

  
And then Shaw settles on top of her, legs interlocking, and _oh_ \- Root arches, the burning fever of skin on skin like hot coals in the cool night air. Shaw brusquely nudges a thigh hard between Root’s legs, biting down on her nipple at the same time, and another moan tears from her throat. Her hands tighten on Shaw’s back, dragging her nails so hard she is sure they’ll leave marks in the morning.

 

Then Shaw is pressing herself onto Root’s thigh, and the cool liquid she feels there on comparably boiling skin makes them both groan. There is a pause to relish the sensation, both trembling, eyes locked on each other’s. Before Root can recover, something slides across the aching need between her legs and her eyes slide tightly shut, losing all coherent thought.

 

Fingers glide with ease across her inflamed flesh, and Root clenches her teeth, the nails on Shaw’s shoulder digging in. Shaw kisses her way up from Root’s breast, leans into Root’s neck, her lips right beside her ear again.

 

“So, no talking huh?” Shaw says, smirking, even though she’s breathing just as heavily as Root. Root makes an indecipherable sound. There is something to be said about a woman who can reduce her to a quivering mess with just her voice, Root thinks.

 

“Not even-” Shaw nibbles lightly on her neck, and she feels the rumble of Shaw’s words in her fucking bones, “- _more_?”

 

“Or _harder_?” She presses on Root’s heat, seemingly going to make good her words, then withdraws the pressure just as quickly, and Root bites back a frustrated whine. Her hips twitch in anticipation.

 

“Not even-” Shaw presses herself down, sliding and grinding on Root’s thigh and hisses, “- _yessssss_?”

 

Root groans, hips bucking again, unable to collect her thoughts long enough to reply.

 

“Not even-” Shaw circles around Root’s clit, never quite touching it, slipping lower, “- _you’re really fucking wet?_ ” Nails on Shaw dig further in, cutting in the most gratifying way.

 

“Not even-” Shaw licks the back of her ear, bites and tugs on her earlobe, before sliding to reach the inner shell of her ear. Root’s awareness narrows down to only Shaw’s voice, thunderous and _hungry_ , sinking and wrapping around every cell inside her, “- _fuck?_ ”

 

The wet licks of Shaw’s tongue reverberate and echo inside Root, and she writhes underneath in murderous need.

 

“-or _oh my God_ , or _do that again_ , or _that feels really good_ -” Shaw trails off into a groan as she grinds harder against Root’s thigh, wet and slick. Shaw’s fingers tease Root’s entrance, dipping in slightly only to pull out again.

 

“ _Sameen_ -” Root pleads breathlessly, desperately, helplessly. She clutches on, unable to do anything but ride the pace that Shaw has set for her.

 

“How about _I really want to fuck you right now?”_ Root whimpers, thrashing raucously on the bed, growing more desperate.

 

Shaw’s hand pulls away, but before Root can protest, two fingers are dragging across her parted lips, sliding through to reach her tongue. The taste of herself, at how wet she is, sends another wave of lust rippling through her, electric down her spine to where her toes curl on the sheets.

 

Shaw skates her lips over Root’s cheek, lifting her face above Root, her breathing growing more erratic at the way Root’s tongue curl around her fingers. Their gazes lock, until Root abruptly bites down on Shaw’s fingers, drawing Shaw’s lust-filled stare down.

 

She makes sure Shaw is watching her mouth _very closely_ when she lets Shaw’s fingers slip out, letting it drag her lower lip down with the slow movement. She watches desire flare in Shaw’s eyes and she thinks nothing else will ever come close.

 

“No more talking,” Shaw growls, her gaze feral, and her lips capture Root’s in a hard and rough kiss. It tastes like dynamites and guns and silver and it is carnage and devastation and it consumes Root like nuclear.

 

Her hips jerk violently when Shaw’s hand resumes its previous exploration, and when they push in without warning, Shaw swallows her feverish moan like something fierce. She knows how soaked she is, and Shaw takes her easily, stretching her without resistance.

 

Shaw grinds brutally and bruising on her thigh now, her pace growing more inconsistent, even as the fingers inside her become unrelenting, hitting somewhere inside Root that makes her melt into lava, leaving her legs weak and quaking.

 

She grasps Shaw’s face with both palms, and looks her directly in the eye.

 

“Don’t stop,” Root manages to say between gasps, grave and hot and demanding, “keep talking.”

 

“Fuck, _what?_ I can’t think-” Root jolts her thigh up hard against Shaw to emphasize her command. Shaw groans in response, Root’s message loud and clear. She wraps her other thigh over Shaw, pressing Shaw down and firmer against her.

 

“ _Fuck_ , Root. What do you want me to say?” Every word takes effort, and Shaw’s fingers slow down, changing their rhythm. Instead, it’s now _deliberate_ and _hard_ , every thrust inside of Root turning into an explosive rush. Her body involuntarily jolts with every hard push in, Shaw’s fingers curled inside of her.

 

“That I’ve thought about this- _a lot_ -” Shaw’s other arm shakes from the effort it takes to support her weight.

 

“That the sounds you make are driving me fucking crazy-” She grinds once against Root, and thrusts again, encouraging the noises that tip out of Root’s lips.

 

“That it’s really hard to think when you’re so wet and so goddamn _tight_ -” Shaw hisses, feeling Root throb and pulsate around her fingers, tightening even further at her words.

 

“-When you’re clenching around me like that-” Root clenches again at that, and Shaw struggles to remain coherent. Shaw brings her face back to Root’s ear, pressing them skin to skin, and Root’s leg tightens on Shaw’s back, her fingernails harsh on burning flesh.

 

“That when I lick your ear right here-” Shaw touches Root’s earlobe with her tongue, just barely, before allowing it to delve further into her mouth, suckling it softly.

 

“-I want you to imagine me licking someplace else-” Root’s breath hitches, and Shaw rolls against Root’s thigh, her own urgency becoming harder to ignore.

 

“-Someplace _way_ more sensitive-” Another measured and firm thrust hits like a bullet, earning a moan from Root.

 

“-Someplace like _this_.” Shaw’s thumb grazes Root’s clit and a whine wrenches its way out of Root’s throat.

 

“I wonder what you’ll taste like, when I let you come in my mouth,” Shaw growls hoarsely, and Root makes more unintelligible sounds in unadulterated yearning. _Yes,_ Root wants to beg, _please_ _let me come in your mouth_. Shaw’s thumb moves languidly around Root’s clit. Caressing. Stroking.

 

“You’re so soft. I could crush you now if I wanted, with my bare hands.” She traces circles around it now, pushing the bundle of nerves, admiring the way it bends to her will, the supple flesh flowing around her thumb like molten liquid. Her tongue on Root’s earlobe imitates her thumb, and Root clamps further around her fingers, coveting and pulsing and hot.

 

Shaw pinches a little, and nips hers ear at the same time, drawing another sharp gasp from Root’s throat.

 

“ _You’re_ _so fucking wet_ \- _I can’t_ -” Shaw’s voice strains, and her movements on Root’s thigh grow frantic. Root’s whole body turns blind and white, pure static and noise, fire and flood, screeching metal and hot ice. She’s _so close_ she can taste her own ruin at the back of her throat.

 

“-And I really, really want to do _this_ -” Shaw speeds up abruptly, her fingers suddenly fast and hard and deep, _so deep_ \- Root’s breath catches- Shaw’s thumb presses down firmly on Root’s enflamed clit and her circles turn into rapid flicking on aching nerves-

 

Every stroke coils and compounds layer upon layer in a vicious hurricane of acute wickedness and all Root’s left with is _oh my god_ and _right there, oh my fucking god, right there, right there, right there_ \- Shaw’s thumb is rubbing fast, _much too fast_ , and Root is reeling, her breathing ragged, her muscles fluttering and _she can’t hold on, she can’t_ -

 

“Sameen-” The whimper leaves Root like a desperate plea, frenzied nails on Shaw’s shoulders and back, and then-

 

Root gasps sharply, arching her back, coming hard, so hard she fears she might shatter if Shaw wasn’t there holding her in one piece. Her hips buck and both her legs quake violently, wave after wave of pleasure slamming into her with the force of tidal waves, the tremors sweeping Shaw along in her wake. Somewhere in her ear, Shaw is groaning low and harsh and guttural.

 

Shaw collapses on top of her, heaving chests in time with her own, their heartbeats suddenly loud and pounding. Even with their bodies quivering Root can feel Shaw pulsate on her thigh, warm in the aftershock.

 

Slowly, Shaw bites her neck without force, simply holding flesh between teeth, her breaths coming out in little hot puffs of air against Root’s sweaty skin.

 

It is meant to be a gesture of affection, Root thinks, and a different kind of longing expands within her ribcage. They remain that way even after Root slides her hand through Shaw’s hair, absently twirling strands around her fingers.

 

“It’s going to be a little hard to ignore you now. What if I need a repeat performance?” Root says, her light tone belying the weight of her meaning, watching the dim light dance on the brown of Shaw’s hair.

 

“You’ll manage,” Shaw releases the flesh of Root’s neck from her half bite as she replies, lazy and indulgent. Root misses the pressure immediately.

 

“Maybe I won’t,” Root says, measuring her words carefully, closing her eyes. Shaw makes a dismissive, indistinct sound.

 

“Maybe I’ll try to be…” but Root doesn’t know what exactly it is that she will try to do, except that she’s as sick as Shaw is from dancing around their issue.

 

She’s sick of not being able to speak to Shaw when she wants to, sick of not being able to tell the jokes that she knows Shaw will roll her eyes at.

 

She’s sick of being afraid, she’s sick of enforcing self-control, she’s sick of not being able to _touch_ Shaw, the little accidental grazes of reassurance that they’re both alive. She’s sick of the distance between them.

 

“…Maybe I’ll try,” she offers nervously instead, somehow feeling like she’s offering her heart up at the same time. She hopes that it will be enough.

 

When Shaw takes too long to answer, Root narrows her eyes in annoyance and tugs on Shaw’s hair adamantly, glaring. Shaw makes a grunt in displeasure.

 

“Yeah, yeah, but could you maybe try in the morning? I’m dead beat,” The muffled grousing voice makes a smile begin on Root’s lips, her heart feeling lighter than it had been in a long while. She feels less afraid, because when everything is mayhem, Shaw is always gruff and brusque and constant. Like computers and code, it is something Root relies on.

 

“Are we cuddling?” She asks, feeling just a tiny bit cheerful.

 

“Who the hell cares? You can go wherever you want, I don’t give a shit. But I’m not fucking moving.” Root laughs at Shaw’s grumpy voice. She finds the idea of Shaw slumped over her like a sloth and refusing to budge both ridiculous and alarmingly _cute_. It’s petulant and sulky, and there’s no one else that Root wants.

 

“Play nice. I’m trying to do a thing here, Sameen,” Root reprimands mildly, but there is no real irritation behind her words. She tugs on Shaw’s hair again playfully, and shamelessly delights in Shaw’s irritated groan.

 

“Do it later.”

 

Root looks down idly, twisting brown strands, and frowns. It takes her a few seconds to process the bloodstained bandages on Shaw’s left upper arm.

 

“Oh my god _Shaw_!” Root yelps, struggling against Shaw’s full weight, trying to get a better look, “your _arm!_ I _completely_ forgot-”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“Let me see- _Shaw,_ _get off_ -” Root barks warningly, hands pushing at Shaw in agitation, “Will you _fucking move_ so I can check-”

 

“Jesus Christ, you have the strength of a hamster. Stop that,” Shaw complains exasperatedly, shifting against the highly irate Root.

 

“Or do I have to do this every time to shut you up?” She lowers her face to Root’s, urging Root into a kiss. Root protests feebly, and doesn’t find a better comeback.

 

But Root isn’t so easily outdone, so she pushes back, tongue winding around Shaw’s. The kiss turns heated, and Root bites Shaw on the lip, tugging hard. Shaw dips, a hand snaking between them, trekking downward. Root grinds upward encouragingly, desire swelling between her legs again.

 

“But your arm-”

 

“-Is _fine_.”

 

“What happened to sleeping?” Root asks breathily, watching lust seep its way back into Shaw’s obsidian irises.

 

“I’m trying to do a thing here, _Root_ ,” Shaw fires back, quirking up an eyebrow. Root is deliciously sore, and when Shaw touches her, the sensitivity makes her body convulse. She watches Shaw’s gaze turn predatory.

 

“Besides, maybe _this time_ ,” Shaw pauses, and slithers her fingers into slippery heat, finding Root still gloriously wet, ignoring Root’s intake of breath, “I’ll make you come so hard you won’t be able to talk anymore.”

 

She savours Root’s moan when she reaches deep inside, curling two fingers, “and we then can _both_ ,” slowly dragging them out, scraping against sensitive inner walls, relishing in Root’s shudder underneath, “go to bed.” 

 

Because Root is Root, she naturally needs to get the last word in (and also because something Shaw said earlier put an image in her mind and now it won’t leave her alone).

 

“Deal. Although this time… ” She whispers through kisses, waiting until she gets Shaw’s full attention, “If I promise to behave…”

 

“Can I come in your mouth?” Root asks innocently, biting a lip and battling eyelashes.

 

Shaw’s answering growl is all manners of blistering and aggressive and all the answer Root needs. When Shaw kisses her again, Root lets her eyes fall shut.

 

Tomorrow she’ll worry again, and sooner or later they’ll have to talk about it. But right now she feels the steady pulse of Shaw’s heart on her own skin, strong and hard like its owner, and knows that in this moment; Shaw is home, safe and alive.

 

They both are.

 

**Author's Note:**

> LOL after 4x11 I was really free and it seems I wrote a bunch of stuff with no real point LOL


End file.
